


Always There

by toaquiprashippar



Series: Ghosts of Ice and Fire [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dragon dreams, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I don't know how to tag this, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonerys, R Plus L Equals J, Warging, i had to get this out, the ghost of winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toaquiprashippar/pseuds/toaquiprashippar
Summary: She was always thereJon could not remember a time where she was not in his dream, or even his nightmares.When his ghostly friend was more than a child's play, and more of a guardian angel; one that led him to the truth, to her.





	1. The Ghost of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> This might be one of my most beloved and most personal works ever because who follows me on Tumblr (toaquiprashippar) knows how much I adore Lyanna Stark and to write a story of her looking over her son while Jon falls for Daenerys was a very emotional thing for me. 
> 
> I could never have done it without my friend cate's help. That girl deserves a round of applause for helping me piece back together my messy ideas and giving me new, improved ones... love youu! 
> 
> (forgive me for any misspellings, english is not my first language)

                                                                    

 

She was always there

Jon could not remember a time where  **she** was not in his dream, or even his nightmares. 

He could never fully see her face, but he remembered her smile, it was large and full of teeth. Like a she-wolf showing her grace, or a wild animal protecting her cubs, watching them from afar. 

When Jon was nothing but a child, he and Robb would prank the other children, pretending to be the dead Kings of Winter, rising to scare the others, down the crypts. He could never see anyone, but it was as if someone inhabited the shadows. But he was a brave little boy, and he would never tell such nonsense to his brother, it was enough being a bastard, let alone a mad one.

The night before he left for The Wall, he dreamt of her. He was lost in the crypts, when he heard her cries. It was sad and heartbreaking, a sound to make the Old Gods weep. 

 _What is it, My Lady? What can I do to help?_   He would ask her. 

But she would not give him an answer.

She wept, still.

Surely, she could not be crying for him, the ghosts of Winterfell would not care for a bastard.

He could never see her face, but he could see her hair, wild and curly, hiding her tears, in the darkness she lived in. 

His friendly ghost, his ghostly friend. At first, she scared him, but after years of her presence, her smell of winter roses had become comforting, a bit like home. 

He would miss her at the Wall, so when he prayed at the Godswood, one last time; Jon prayed for his family's safety, for his new life and for his friend to be there somehow.

For a long time, she was not.

He never saw her when he lost hope of finding his uncle, but he felt her presence, when he mourned him, all those cold nights at Castle Black.

He never saw her the night he swore his vows, but he dreamt of a Godswood with blue leaves, and it smelled of his distant friend: winter roses.

He never saw her in the crypts, the night he dreamt of his father, right after his demise; but he knew she was there, in the shadows.

He never saw her when he got the dreadful news of Robb and Lady Catelyn, and he wanted to kill and die. But he knew she was there, somehow, somewhere. 

Winterfell, Bran, Rickon. Robb. He was so angry, his pack was dying, he did not know of his she-wolf of a sister, and Sansa was beyond his reach.

_When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

His pack was either slaughtered or scattered, so die the lone wolf did.

He did see her that night, though, the night he would finally see her face. The night his brothers ended his watch and his ears would hear her voice. 

 

* * *

 

_It was cold, but her embrace was nothing but warm._

_He remembered everything._

_“TRAITOR”, they called him. Yet, they were the ones who stabbed him._

_“Oh, my poor boy, what did they do to you?” Her face was beautiful, defiant, yet soft and loving. She reminded him of Arya, with her deep grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own._

_“They killed me…I am dead, am I not?” He could not believe it. Dead. By the hands of his own brothers. His watch has ended._

_“Aye. You are, but not for long.” Her voice was fierce, but sad. She was beautiful, and so familiar._

_“Who are you? Are you my shadow friend?” He was asking, but somehow he knew the answer._

_“I am.” She smiled. He knew that smile. Cause he had it himself._

_“What do you mean ‘not for long’?” Death was permanent; he was supposed to meet his father, his brothers. Probably his little sister, Arya, too. Where were them? Did bastards have no right in the afterlife too? Was he all damned?_

_“You will soon find out, I promise you.” She smiled._

_“Why am I at the crypts? I am not a Stark.” He could not understand how death brought him to the resting place of his Lord Father’s House. “The Kings of Winter do not wish me here, they told me so themselves, in dreams.” He could never forget those dreams, they haunted his memories and it felt like a joke from the Gods, as if Lord Stark’s ancestors hated his bastard as much as his wife did._

_“Stark blood run through your veins, if you are here, mayhap the Gods want you here.” Her soft voice assured him, her face was still sad._

_“Are you a Stark?” Only the Starks were welcomed here._

_“I am a memory, Jon. A friend. A protector. A guide.” She looked straight into his eyes; her eyes seemed to see right through him. It was unsettling._

_“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sweet Boy.” She turned to his Father statue, staring._

_“I know your heart. You are not one easily scared; don’t fear a shadow that only wants to talk.” She looked aside, to smile at him. It was not a sad smile, for once._

_“You were always good in scaring people around you, though. You and your brother Robb. Scaring Sansa with your flour ghosts, playing with the boys and Arya, training with your sword around the castle. Did you ever imagine how often you would need to yield it, years later? How you would see real ghosts and even talk to ‘em at the same crypts you once hide yourself at? Oh, these Gods and their jokes…” The Lady turned to the other side, walking to another statue, his Uncle Brandon._

_“You have always been near me, haven’t you, My Lady?” Jon wondered what it meant, but he would never say it aloud._

_“I saw your oath, in front of that Godswood. I wept with the Gods.” She was crying now, he did not know what to do. But she just continued._

_“I saw you giving up everything, getting on a horse, to follow Robb, the winds helped your friends to find you in time to stop you from being a deserter…I would like to think I was always very good in helping the winds.” He remembers that day, maybe if he had gone, Robb would still be alive…Or maybe he would have just died alongside his brother, at the Red Wedding._

_“I saw you falling in love with a woman kissed by fire, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, however, you did so anyway. I also saw you losing her, and it breaking your heart, I am sorry for it. I know all about a broken heart. Although mine have not beaten in decades, I did lose someone I held dear, and nothing made me sadder.” She touched his face, as Catelyn did when Robb was upset._

_“I failed my brother. I failed Ygritte. I could have helped both, now they are both gone.” Jon whispered. They were alone, but saying it aloud made it hurt even harder. It just made his guilt even more real._

_“No, my Sweetling. You did not. Their lives and journeys were theirs to live. Yours belonged elsewhere. You love so deep and so fiercely, Jon. That is why men follow you to the ends of the earth, you inspire their loyalty. No legitimacy gives someone that, it comes with their personality, and you have it more than anyone in Westeros.” Hearing this from the outside was like healing a wound that has been hurting for a long time. She was always there, but she was not. She seemed to know everything, and still saw him as a good person, as worthy. Had he ever had that from anyone other than his few friends at the Night’s Watch? From his sister Arya?_

_Someone was calling to him, it was not the common tongue, but somehow, they both knew it was a summon, meant for Jon._

_"You must go now; they are reaching out to you. You inspire admiration and respect, love from people, Jon. No one would ever give up on a person like yourself.  The mysterious woman was holding him tight, like a she-wolf protecting her pup._

_“Nor will I, I will stay in the shadows, but you can always find me.” Her words were comforting and sad, he could not imagine her not being there, but now, having spoken to her, he could not imagine not talking to her or having her answer back._

_“Why? Why won’t you leave, why won’t you give up on me?” He looked into her eyes._

_“I don’t think you are ready to listen to this answer yet, Jon. Stop doubting yourself, go south, and get warm. Fight the wars they send your way, you are meant for greatness, you were never ordinary, you were promised.” She touched his face once more._

_“I am a man of The Night’s Watch. I can’t fight any King’s War.” He was confused._

_“They killed you. Your watch has ended. You can do as you please, and_ _the Long Night approaches, men will need someone to guide them throughinto it.” She still would not let go of him._

_“Jon…Just don’t let her fly away.” Before he could answer, she was gone._

_“Let who fly away, My Lady?” He asked, but she was no more._

Before he could react, there was light. 

Pain was no longer, air filling his lungs, he could not gasp enough.

He was alive.

His watch has ended, but his life was not.

* * *

 

 

He was back in his old room, back home. After years away from Winterfell, he and Sansa were finally home.

He could not save Rickon, for as fast as he rode, Ramsay’s aim was better. He would always carry that with him. Had he listen to his sister, or maybe the Gods just wanted to claim Rickon for themselves. He could not save his baby brother. He now layed with Father and their ancestors.

Their home was once again under Stark protection. The North remembered but House Bolton would become nothing but a faded memory, they were calling that day _The Battle of the Bastards._ All Jon could remember was Rickon falling, him and his men killing their way into the Bolton army, almost drowning until he heard the song that would save them that day, Sansa and The Knights of The Vale...Running with all his rage and grief after that beast that almost broke his sister and killed his brother; his house that murdered Robb and Lady Catelyn. Wun Wun, the giant, had given his life to give them passage, Ramsay’s face against his bloody knuckles, it came in flashes, with all the pain that filled his lungs.

_King in the North, they call me._

Jon remembered the days Robb had this position, was he ever this overwhelmed? This burdened. Cersei Lannister had sent a letter, not a day prior, demanding them to bend the knee and accept her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He would do no such thing, The North was independent now, and he would continue to be so for no southerner cared for their cold and damp lands enough to deserve his knee bent. Tohrren Stark bent his knee to protect his people from Aegon Targaryen, his sisters and his Dragons. Cersei Lannister was no Targaryen and she would know no recognition or love from his people, nor would he show it.

They had been searching for answers; any clues that could help them fight the Walkers, anything that could give them an advantage. How can you fight the Dead? How can you beat the last enemy, the one we shall all meet one day? But they were no ordinary dead, they had been risen by The Night King and stripped off their memories, wishes and any humanity they ever had. They were nothing but vessels of death and destruction. 

Sam had been at the Citadel for months now, studying and looking for anything that could help them, and he had discovered a keep of Dragonglass, hiding under Dragonstone. How would they reach it?

He could not forget the dream he had the night before the raven delivered his friend’s letter. Jon woke up in sweat, looking for his direwolf, only to find him exactly where his dream had shown him. 

It was not the first time Ghost’s eyes had been his own, _wolf dreams_ , as Old Nan would say. He didn’t think of himself as a warg, for he could not warg himself into his direwolf whenever he wanted, it was more like a connection they had, called upon whenever needed. That night…It seemed needed.

_She was in his chambers, looking upon him. A beautiful, but sad Lady. He knew her, he had seen her before. Her eyes were anything but strange, yet he could not remember where he knew it from. But her face? It felt like a distant memory, one he barely had._

_Her presence, though, had been constant all his life. His shadow friend._

_When was the last time he had seen her?_

_He felt her the night before the Battle, her smell was there, at his tend. He felt that same scent when they buried Rickon and Sansa was holding his hand so tightly, she could have broken it._

_She turned her back and ran outside. He ran to her, she was fast, he felt his paws heavy and quick, but never quick enough. It was dark outside, and instead of the cold of the snow, it felt warm. Instead of the horses outside or the sounds of the night, his wolf ears heard waves, and saw light._

_Winterfell was far from White Harbor, far from Eastwatch by the Sea, no ocean for miles and miles at all directions, yet, the sounds danced in his ears._

_The Lady ran as no human should, let alone a frail looking woman, but Ghost could not reach her. When they reached the Godswood, he was not Ghost anymore, and it was not the North, but the entrance to a cave. His friend was no more, but a shorter woman: long, braided blonde, almost white haired woman. She was dressed in a black dress, with black trousers beneath. He could see she wore a silver chain crossing her chest, and a long fabric in her shoulder. Her chain sparkled in the light of the sun that burned bright in that strange place, just like the stones he could see everywhere in the cave. Chunks of sparkle,as if he did not know they were on the floor, he would say she was standing in the sky. As she entered the cave, he looked back, he could only see the beach and the stones surrounding him. He followed the woman, but before he could reach her, his friend was behind him, holding him back._

_Welcome home, Jon._

The very next day, Sam’s letter arrive, and the news of Dragonstone and it's mountains of Dragonglass. He would not tell anyone about his dream, but it scared him. He did not know who the silver haired Lady was, nor why his ghost friend called it home, but sounded like his shadow friend was more than a shadow, more like a friend.

Jon just prayed for the Old Gods that Sam would find something else, a stronger weapon, a game changer. The winds were getting colder and winter was here, their time was running out.

 

* * *

 

If dreaming about Dragonglass and receiving Sam’s letter about it the very next day was not strange enough; Jon received another raven, this time from Dragonstone, by Tyrion Lannister, asking him to come to the ancient castle; the same place said Dragonglass was located at; to bend the knee to none other than Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of three full-grown dragons, with enough fire to change the course of the War and help them beat the Night King and his army. The Lords of The North were not pleased, but they had not chosen him to please them, but to save them.

Sansa was livid, but he was doing it for her too. She would be happier to stay alive. He truly understood where her feelings came from, his sister walked through all seven kinds of hell, and she feared having to suffer it all again, but he would protect her. While she feared the living, he knew the real who was the real enemy now: the dead. If going to Dragonstone would help them defeat them, he would gladly go. That he did, and leaving her as Lady of Winterfell, no one would be a better judge of character of what their home needed.

_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell._

King or not, he was a bastard. She was always the only Stark there anyway. She would do well, while he got them as much Dragonglass and support as he possibly could.

For all the days they travelled from White Harbor to Dragonstone, he did not have remember having a single dream, but he always slept to the smell of the sea and winter roses, and the words _“don’t let her fly away”_ were the first thing on his mind every morning, as if the wind whispered to him at the break of dawn.

A curious thought and scenery, indeed.

 

* * *

 

The moment he set foot in Dragonstone; Tyrion Lannister, an old friend, greeted him. He hoped no one would see the astonishment in his face. He had been here before. He knew this place; his shadow friend brought him here that night. He knew that cave must be somewhere near this very shore, the stones were same and the beach had the same dark blue. It was all too similar.

How could Jon Snow dream of Dragonstone, when he had never left The North?

_Welcome home, Jon._

He remembered those words, they were distant but he could still hear her voice. Her northern voice in such a southerner land.

He was taken to meet the Queen. The Dragon Queen. They said she had three dragons. He prayed she really did, for they were the ones that could save them all.

 

* * *

 

She was infuriating, that woman.

She expected him to bend the knee for some blood right when his own father had fought to over throne him. He would not.

He had heard of her beauty, of her strength, of her youth; never of her ignorance. She claimed herself Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, how could she let her people die, just because she believed her claim to the Iron Throne was more important than protect this very kingdom against the Army of the Dead?

Would it really be fair to expect anyone to believe him this fast, though? White Walkers were nothing but horror stories to scare little children and if he had not seen it for himself, would he ever believe anyone who told him about it?

Maybe his sister was right, he was wrong to come. It was as Tyrion had said earlier that day, “Stark men don’t fare well when they travel south”. He should be at home, helping the men and women prepare for the Great War; but the same man also asked him to be reasonable and give him time to speak to Daenerys about him mining Dragonglass and taking it North with him, so mayhap it was not all for nothing.

Would he dream of that place for no reason? Daenerys was a Targaryen, she had valyrian traits, such as silver blond hair and lilac eyes; he could not see the woman’s eyes, but he was trying hard to ignore the similarities to the Queen’s hair to the woman’s standing in his dream.

However, he was not doing a good job.

 

* * *

 

_You better get to work, Jon Snow_

Somehow, Tyrion Lannister proved himself a real good politician and did well on his word. Daenerys gave him permission to mine the Dragonglass.

Her dragons were something out of his childhood dreams or the bedtime histories Old Nan would tell him and Robb. Arya would certainly love the sight of them. They were gigantic and gorgeous beasts. She watched them, as a mother watched their children.He could see her as _The Mother of Dragons,_ would she ever want to mother a child? Had she? Maester Aemon should be here, to see his niece and her dragons; somehow, Jon thought he probably was.

She was not the hard, incorrigible, hostile Queen she had been when they first met. Could he blame her for being so? After being through all she told him, would he not act the same towards anyone who could be a potential threat? The world was not a kind, forgiving place to anyone, especially women; his sister Sansa was the living proof of that. But did she have to be so stubborn? Yet here, with no one around but her flying sons, she seemed guarded but curious, more so than anything else, frustrated. It seemed to be the mood of the island that day. Frustrated or not, he would have the Dragonglass, and he still had time to convince Daenerys to help his cause, their lives depended on it. 

_Maybe travelling South would be of help, they say dreams are a warning._

_I had been warned._


	2. Dragon Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I posted this last night but like the sweetheart @Ghost_is_dope pointed out, it didn't show in the tag, weird! So I'm posting it again, let's see if it works!  
> Again, thanks for the love, so happy to share this with you guys!  
> Part 2 here!  
> Hope you guys enjoy it! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of it would be possible without my friend cate, she's the bomb <3

                                                                      

 

_His first night in Dragonstone was a repeat of his last at Winterfell, his lady friend was there, but this time there was no Ghost, nor a Weirwood tree, she was at the beach. She did not run, she walked; her hair was loose and her dress was blue, it was night but it was a full moon and he could see her form perfectly._

_“My Lady?” She was five steps ahead of him, perhaps she wanted to be alone, yet, she had her hand behind her, as if she wanted him to follow her._

_“My Lady?” He walked faster, but she was still there, still the same distance ahead of him, no matter his speed. Which was odd, she was not tall nor was she speeding up, but she was unreachable._

_She looked to the side, and he could almost see her face, except he could not. Then she stopped in front of the Castle, and ran to it. Jon ran after her. When she touched the long, large doors, she turned to him, her face was so sad. He knew that face, where did he knew that face from?_

_“He wanted you here. You are home”_

_Dark turned to silver; grey to lilac, blue to black, and it was not his shadow friend anymore; it was Daenerys Targaryen, gazing back at him. Before any of them could do anything, he heard her dragons from afar._

He woke up in a bed of sweat, still stuck in lilac seas, ignoring words that did not make any sense to him.

 

* * *

 

The moment he held that torch and took her into the cave, he knew she was the girl from the dream. The girl his favorite ghost turned into. It was all there. The sound of the waves, the stars–that now he knew for sure, were all Dragonglass reflecting the lights creeping in–, her silver braided hair, even her outfit were the same. He did not stop nor let himself think more on it, he could do that later, alone in his room. He had a Queen to convince to join their cause, but somewhere in the back of his mind, that scared him.

_Were dreams really a warning, or visions? Prophecies?_

* * *

 

The moment Jon saw the Queen coming back from her trip from the Lannister army, he remember those words: _“don’t let her fly away”._

He was not going mad; he remembered waking up to them, as if the wind told him a secret, as if the wind had a woman’s voice. Daenerys was flying back to Dragonstone, like the warrior Queen that she was, how beautiful she looked from here, or from anywhere, really.

_‘Don’t let her fly away’_

_Jon remembered Old Nan telling him and Robb how all over Westeros, there used to be Weirwood trees, watching the Children of the Forest, and protecting them, as they carved faces and offered their Gods sacrifices for such protection. However after the First men arrived and cut down their trees, the wind became their way of speaking to us in down South, if you wanted to hear the Old Gods, just speak to the wind, and listen to it._

_Jon was not important enough to have the Gods attention, but he wish he could have Daenerys’._

_The beast was approaching, but he would not move from here, he wanted to touch it, he would not miss this for the world. She would not fly away nor would he move an inch._

_He took off his glove and approached slowly, touching the dragon’s rough and hard skin, and it felt like anything he had ever felt before._

_He thought of those strange words:_

_Welcome home, Jon._

_He was not home, but somehow, this felt so right, this fit so properly. Daenerys got down from her dragon and walked to him, as if she did not just had one of the greatest and fastest victories Westeros had ever seen._

_They watched the animal leave, and while the Queen seemed momentarily offended by the King in the North calling her children “beasts”, he could only stare at her, like he wish he could do for the rest of his days. He knew this was not what he was here for, they had a war to win, the greater evil to slay, but for a moment, he could not stop himself from wondering what it was like to want something and just have it, without guilt or shame, to just take it._

_She would fly alright, he would not stop her nor did he know what those words meant, but seeing her receive Lord Commander Mormont’s son, how she did not like to use her dragons just as much as he did not like to use his sword, his guts told him that he’d grown used to her, how strange it would be not have her around._

* * *

They had to go north…True North, beyond the Wall and not everyone knew what that meant. But he did, Jon knew exactly what it meant.

A long time ago, it meant the Free folk, his mind wandered to Ygritte, Mance and his time amongst them; now it only meant not knowing if he would ever come back, if he would ever see Arya and Bran again like he did Sansa, or Daenerys Targaryen.

She tried to make him stay, use her authority over his, but he was still a King and he would honor his mission, his duty, he did not have a choice, Jon had to go. If they had a chance of gathering proof so they could show it to Cersei Lannister, and bringing the living together to fight the Dead, he would do so.

_That night he dreamt of Dragonstone once more, although it was dark and there was no one but himself, and the Queen’s dragons. He found himself on the hill Daenerys landed with her black dragon the other day, but this one was not him, it was the green one._

_The boy inside him wanted to touch the dragon so badly, he had been fascinated by these amazing creatures ever since he could remember. The dragon seemed to welcome his touch, closing his eyes with his contact; the feeling would never cease to amaze him. Although knowing this was but a dream, the dragon positioning his wings for him to go up on him, as if he wanted Jon to ride him, shocked the King in the North and his winter blood._

_Legitimate or not, Jon was a Stark, no person without valyrian blood running through their veins could ever ride a dragon, could they?_

_However, this was not real, so he could do as he wanted, and that he did. Jon went to the dragon’s back, and it felt like nothing else in the world._

_How much faster could they reach the Wall? How much faster could they catch a Wight, if only they could go on a dragon’s back? If this was a dream, there were no harm, he could try._

_Sōvēs_

_However, the dragon would not go, he only knew the valyrian word to make him fly cause read it in a book, long time ago, but even so, the dragon would not obey._

_He would not even look up, like a spoiled child. Like knew what he was being asked to do, but he still would not do it; his ears moved to Jon’s poor pronunciation, after all he never heard it properly, only read it in books, but the green dragon knew exactly what it meant, just chose to ignore him. He would not go._

_Sōvēs_

_Perhaps only a Valyrian descendants could fly a dragon, even in dreams._

_Jon pet the animal once more, going down through his wing. Once he was the ground, he saw big eyes staring back at him, as if they wanted to tell him something…To ask him something. However, it did not. He opened his wings and flew away._

_The King in the North could not hide his disappointment. He really wanted to ride that dragon._

_Oh, to be a Targaryen and to fly…If only._

 

* * *

It was said hell was made of fire, but after fighting the Night King once more and nearly succumbing before him, Jon was sure it was built of ice. Hell was white and it was infested with blue-eyed corpses, frozen monsters and dead creatures. He was about to stay there forever when his uncle rescued him, and gave his own life for Jon’s.

After years not knowing whatever happened to Uncle Benjen, he came out of the snow and burned them, giving Jon his horse and sending him on his way to his Queen. To his savior. 

Jon could feel the love for his uncle flowing through his entire being.

Jon was sure he was going to die beyond the Wall. He was sure he would never again hold his little sister Arya, nor see his brother Bran or kiss Sansa’s forehead. When you see yourself in a field of death surrounded by enemies and neither weapons nor numbers at your favor, you prepare yourself to go.

He would miss his family and the reunion they would never get to have; he would miss Sam, Edd and he would miss his home, Winterfell; lastly but definitely not less important, while wielding Longclaw on the Dead, his mind wandered to silver and lilac. When he heard the dragons screeches and saw her, like a vision in the sky, to save them, he could deny himself no longer: he had feelings for the Dragon Queen. She had come for them. She cared.

The moment she flew his way, he remembered his dreams and those words: “ _don’t let her fly away”_ ; somehow, Jon knew Daenerys was the one his ghostly friend warned him about, she was meant to save him, were they meant to something else? But he did let her fly away, had he gone, she would fall with him and he could not accept a world without Daenerys Targaryen in it. He would make sure she survived, to save them and bring back better days.

Before they could react, her child fell. Blood raining from the sky, one could hear his brothers cry from miles away, mayhap Essos could her it. It was not a dance, it was a cry, the dragons wept their brother and so did his Mother.

He send them on their way, never looking back. He could not, he would not or he was lost. Until he fell. Until Uncle Benjen, until he saw thousand blue eyes, fireballs and black thick hairs. He could barely gather his surroundings; he called for Benjen to go with him, knowing he would not.

He felt weak and heavy, right before sleep claimed him, and it was as if he was being held gently in the horse seat, he heard that old, familiar voice whispering in his ear.

_You are fine now, pup. Benjen saved you for me. She awaits you; she will not leave without you. She also will not let you fly away, my winged wolf._

And just like that, darkness overtook him, involving him in dreams of warm embraces and soft lips, a red rain pouring over the North, and a beautiful lady with gentle eyes in a beautiful white dress with silver and blue embroidery, blue winter roses all over her long wild black hair being held by a tall, lean yet strong man, on his back, that sang beautifully a sad song, while they watched the rain. He also had silver, long hair and his broad shoulders covered in a black doublet were all Jon could see of him. They were all standing at the Winterfell’s highest tower, watching the blood pour and taint the snow fields, yet no one would do anything.

As if _she_ knew he was watching and what he wanted to know, she looked at him with those grey eyes of hers, and her voice was as sad as the song the silver man sang.

_“Winter is here, child. The Great War has begun.” She said._

_“I am not strong enough…I can’t…” Jon felt so weak._

_“You are stronger than you know, Jon.” She smiled. “I am sorry you have this burden layed on your shoulders, but you two are the only ones who can end Him. You were not the only one that was promised, child.” She touched his face, and turned back to the man beside her as the blood rain before them._

When he woke up, any memories of promises and songs were gone. He woke up to his beautiful Queen, and her pained face. She was all he could think of, he could almost feel her pain.

_I am sorry. I am so sorry…_

* * *

 

He could feel the winds blowing in and out of the cabin and the heat off the melting candles, but no heat was stronger than the feel of their bodies brought together.

She was pure warmth, her skin was smooth and hot; her eyes were a pool of lilac lava and her hair glowed under the moonlight. No sight was prettier, no feel was better, no taste was sweeter, after a life of putting himself second to other’s desires, and he found something he wanted more than anything…Something worth fighting for. Her. 

It was an odd feeling; imagine that his lifelong shadow friend would warn him about her before they met. It was almost unsettling how many times she had appeared in his dreams and thoughts. He had never experienced such emotions, not even with his first love, his wild Ygritte.

She was there, she warmed his heart but even with her beside him, he would still feel cold, he would still feel alone. Here, in this bed, Jon felt like he belonged.

After their lovemaking, Daenerys drift off to sleep, legs tangled up in his, body leaned into his very own, her weight a light yet comfortable reminder that he was not alone. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, before closing his eyes.

He slept all through the night, no dreams, only peace. How could his imagination be any better than the reality of such a night?

He did not understand the need of his ghostly friend to claim Dragonstone as his home, but he was starting to think she did not mean it as a place, but its Queen.

His Queen.

 

* * *

 

They had stayed at White Harbor for at least five days, during the time which their ships and forces could settle and be properly prepared for their journey to Winterfell.

Jon missed his Queen.

They were trying to keep their nights to themselves, each being given separate chambers and actually sleeping in it throughout the night, to avoid suspicions from the Manderlys and everyone else, at least for the moment. He was sure Tyrion, Davos and Missandei were quite aware of how they spent their nights, they were not exactly so subtle on their trip, but they were in the North now, and they had his kingdom to convince to pledge to Daenerys…Thoughts of her seducing their King to make him kneel would not help now.

Missing her weight over his body, he fell asleep amidst the distant smell of blue roses, under the moonlight.

Sleep claimed him and took Jon elsewhere.

They were somewhere warm, he could feel see the sun up in the sky and the place looked like a weak attempt for a Godswood, this was more likely somewhere in the South.

A knight was taking off his helmet off, but it was not a man, it was a woman, she had her back turned to him, but she seemed in a frenzy. Not many women could horse ride like she did, nor could they use an armor like this girl did.

 _Arya would be like this, he thought_.

She was getting rid of whatever mismatched pieces of armor she wore. The girl was setting her hair free when he heard the horses and before the girl could hide, a nobleman mounted in a dark stallion was in front of her. His face was long and curious, with his deep indigo eyes. He had long silver hair, and Jon could clearly see the three headed dragon symbol at the man’s chest, this man was a Targaryen.

_What is this? What am I seeing?_

Before the lady knight could turn his way, he heard a knock on the door, barely audible for anyone, but enough for a former brother of the Night’s Watch.

“Come inside.” Jon spoke in a rough voice, filled with sleep.

“Jon?” His eyes opened quickly, realizing it was Daenerys at the door. His cloak covering her thin shift, her long silver hair loosely braided hiding her chest.

“Dany?” He stood and made room for her to sit on the bed.

“I could not sleep. I had to see you” She seemed so small in her shift, once she let the cloak slip her frame and pool at her feet.

“I keep dreaming of my brother and a woman, watching the skies rain blood.” She layed next to him, tangling her legs to his.

“Viserys?” Was she dreaming the same things as him?

“Rhaegar.” She did not want to sound crazy, but she knew it was her older brother she was dreaming about. Having seen him at the House of The Undying, and also having dreamt of him many times before, she knew his face, his smile and even his voice.

“You never met him, how can you be sure it was him?” He didn’t doubt her, he just wanted to understand.

“I just know.” She did not know how to explain, she just knew.

“Who was the woman?” He asked. “What was she like?” He wondered if she had wild black hair, and a tall, slim and strong frame.

No answer ever came, only her silent breathing. Being next to Jon, safe in his arms, sleep had claimed her.

When he looked at her, she was deep asleep. He could not help himself, but smile, he had miss her. He missed the peace he felt around her.

If the man in his dreams was Rhaegar Targaryen, was the woman, Lyanna Stark? Why would he dream of her? Why would she be all around him, all these years?

He feared these answers, and honestly, he did not want to know.

 

* * *

 

He did not want to know, but it did not mean he would not.

When they arrived at Winterfell, it was the happiest Jon had ever been in years. Seeing Arya, Bran and Sansa once again.

He held his little sister like there was no tomorrow, especially since mayhap there would be none. How he had missed her. She still had Needle, and now she knew exactly how to use it. She was a grown woman, even if she would always be his little wolf.

Bran was different. They all had changed since leaving Winterfell, but none like Brandon Stark. The joyful kid was gone, and he was now solemn and distant, like a wise master or a servant of an order. Jon could only imagine the horrors little Bran had to go through to have changed so much and his heart ached to think he could not protect his brother from it all.

Truth is, they all had changed so much since they left home all those years ago. They were happy, safe and innocent, but after leaving the safety of those walls that shaped them, the Starks met nothing but misery, suffering and death.

Sansa left her love for songs and knights dreaming of nothing but the very home she once wanted to leave behind, while Bran learned so much more than a person ever should, seeing the downfall of everyone he loved, he would never be the Kingsguard he always dreamt he would, and his beloved Arya saw her world crumble around her so many times, until she let it consume her and she became revenge itself.

He could not let himself think of his father, Robb or Rickon. Even Lady Catelyn. She might have hated him, but he would never think of her death with anything but sadness. The North will never forget.

After greeting and hugging each one of them, it was time to introduce their new Queen. It would not be easy, to make the Northern Lords bend their knees to Daenerys, but Jon was determined. She had proven herself to him, she cared and she deserved it.

Daenerys was introduced by her trusted advisor, and spoke to everyone in the courtyard, she was humble and gracious, it was hard to resist her. Jon would know.

As he imagined, Arya was a little wary at first, but her eyes shined with the sight of dragons, it was as if she was meeting Visenya Targaryen, her childhood hero. Bran was nor impressed, he knew they were coming, but he was nothing but polite. Sansa was every bit the Lady of Winterfell she was taught to be, but she did not seem to trust Daenerys the slightest. They would have to work on that.

Sam was there too. He would need his most trusted friend there if they wanted to defeat the White Walkers. 

“Jon, there is something Brandon and I have to speak to you about. You and the Queen. Alone, please.” Sam had a strange look on his face.

“Me and Queen Daenerys? Alone with you and Bran? Does it have to be now? We have just arrived, Sam” Jon wanted nothing more than to settle in his chamber and to bathe before starting their plan to present Daenerys to the Northern Lords and start their defensive against the Night King.

“It is a matter of urgency.” Sam was serious.

Arya and Sansa seemed to not know what the matter was about but Jon would prefer it they did. They were a pack, he did not want no secrets between them.

“Can Arya and Sansa be there? I would like them to.” He insisted.

“If you don’t mind. It is something about you.” Sam answered.

“They are my sisters. I don’t mind.” Jon was being honest. He looked at Arya with nothing but love.

Daenerys could only look from a short distance, she did not remember if she had ever received such look from Viserys. He had once been a good brother, yes; but never had he looked at her with such love, with such devotion. Jon loved his sisters, asking nothing in return, and she loved him even more for it.

“We should go down to the crypts,” Bran finally spoke.

“I think the Kings of Winter will not mind the presence of Queen Daenerys, given the matter we have to discuss.” Everyone was curious; Brandon Stark was being very mysterious.

Off to the crypts they went.

Jon had the odd feeling of being watched, and not by the many people actually watching them at the courtyard, but by known eyes.

 

* * *

 

As they walked towards the crypts, dreams and memories of his childhood passed through Jon’s mind. Him and Robb hiding through the stone images; him challenging Theon to spar; his Lord Father grabbing winter roses to take to his sister’s grave.

Before his mind could wander further, they stopped in front of said sister’s grave.

“Do you know who this is, Jon?” Bran’s voice was solemn.

“Father’s sister. Lyanna Stark” He was confused. Why were they there? Was this some kind of trick? To make Daenerys uncomfortable? Everyone knew how Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped and raped her, and how his father had found her dying of a fever in a tower in Dorne, months after Robert’s Rebellion had started.

He could feel Daenerys moving restless next to him, she let go of his hand and she seemed like she wanted to be anywhere but down there.

“Yes. Lyanna Stark. Father’s sister.” Bran answered. “Your mother.” He spoked loud enough for everyone to hear. Enough to silence the room for a whole minute. Brains processing the information, questions being formed.

“I don’t understand. What are you saying, Bran?” Arya was the first to speak. Jon looked like he was about to collapse.

“Jon is not Father’s son. Neither trueborn nor bastard. He was Father’s nephew. Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Bran spoke again.

“This is not funny, Bran. This makes no sense at all.” Sansa did not believe it. Daenerys was too shocked to say anything, dots being linked in her mind: Drogon let Jon pet him, her instant connection to him, Rhaegar appearing in dreams to her, the blue winter rose in a chink of a wall of ice, _blood of my blood._

Everything else was white noise around her, while her mind worked miles per hour and she tried to make sense out of things.

Jon, on the other hand, was about to pass out. He did not know if he ran or shout. So he was a product of rape? He could handle being a bastard, after all these years, he had finally made peace with it, regardless of who his mother was, no one could take away from him the fact that his father was Lord Eddard Stark, the most honorable man of Westeros. He was always proud to be compared to him; now he was robbed of that too.

“Jon? Do you hear me?” Sam was shaking his arm.

“What?” Jon was lost between wanting to punch something and crying.

“Robert’s Rebellion was built on a lie. Rhaegar didn’t kidnap or raped Lyanna. He loved her, and she loved him. They ran away together, he annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, and they got married in a secret ceremony in Dorne. Gilly and Samuel found the papers, all signed and described by the High Septon Maynard. You’ve never been a bastard, you’re the Heir to the Iron Throne.” Every word sounded foreigner to his ears, distant to the reality he grew up knowing.

Rhaegar and Lyanna loved each other? He was a trueborn son? He was a Crown Prince? He was the Heir to the Crown? Before he could answer anything, he looked at Daenerys, she was pale, crying, her beautiful eyes were wet as was her face, tears streaming down her confusion and fear. What did that meant for them?

“Excuse me”. He did not know what to say, so he said nothing at all, he just ran. Fast. Away from them, away from the truth and what it all meant for him, his past and his future. Most of all, from his present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so? what did you guys think?  
> Can't wait to share the last part!  
> It's so weird sharing this, so emotional cause this was our baby for so long, so many late nights talking and discussing this history, so each comment means a lot!  
> <3 <3 <3


	3. All For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Jon's parentage reveal, and what it means for him, Daenerys and Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened to the chapter, it got deleted??  
> Anyway, how this ended up taking so long to post I will never understand, I do apologize! It’s been a crazy year so far, but at least this will not be the last chapter, guys! I decided to give you this and one more! beta’d by the beautiful @fairytalelovr, thanks sweetie! <3
> 
> Plus, once again thanks to my friend cate for all the patience and support to organize this babe here!

                                                                     

 

It’d been hours since he had last talked to anyone. Bran’s words still echoing in his mind, though it made no sense to him. Yet, it did. He always felt like he did not fit. He dreamt of his alleged ancestors telling him to go away, for he did not belong at their resting site. Oh, the irony. He had their blood, as Lord Stark would always say, but he was not really a Stark, was he? No, he was a Targaryen.

For fuck’s sake, he was Dany’s nephew. He had fallen in love with his father’s sister.

It pained him to think of Rhaegar Targaryen as his father. Regardless of his status, trueborn or bastard, his greatest pride was being the son of Eddard Stark, the most honorable man of Westeros. He had taught Jon how to be a man, how to behave, how to obey, how to care and how to always do the right thing.

Being Lord Eddard’s bastard was all he knew. Even as King in the North, he was still the Bastard King. He had made peace with it, a long time ago. Now it was all behind him. He was the blood of the dragon. Dany’s blood.

It was all too much.

It was the hour of the wolf, so he went to the one place he knew he could be alone.

Or so he thought.

However, the little wolf was there —, except she was not little anymore. Arya was a grown woman, and a beautiful and willful one at that. Jon was sure Eddard Stark would have been so proud of her, for making her way back home. She survived, through it all.

Like a distant voice in the back of his mind, Jon could almost hear the memory, far away.

 _“She has the Stark_ _coloring,” the_ _old woman almost whispered. “Lyanna’s coloring, Lord Stark.” That name was not commonly spoken around The North, but having heard it twice before, the name seemed to bring both sadness and happiness to his Lord Father._

_At first he would smile, and then close himself off._

_“Would you like to name her after your sister, Ned?” Lady Catelyn asked. She could never see him spying on them through the cracks of the door. She would scare him away, but he wanted to see his sister, and he was not sure Lady Catelyn would let him._

_“I am not ready yet, Cat. But I thank you for that” He kissed her forehead and admired his baby girl._

_“Let me clean her, my Lord” Old Nan took Arya in her arms; when she turned, Jon saw emotions a child of five could not understand but now he realized it must have been a mix of love and grief._

_“You’ll be fearsome as your aunt, my dear.”_

_It was almost a whisper, neither parents could listen, but he did. It was then Nan’s eyes met his, and instead of contempt, he got a sad smile, and a silent send off. Off he went, before he got caught by someone else._

“Does this means you get to ride dragons now?” Arya asked softly. She was looking at him, next to the crypt’s entrance.

“That’s what you got to ask?” He was somewhere between laughing and crying, but his sister wanted to know about dragons.

“Does anything else matters?” They walked inside the crypts, each holding a torch, tomb by tomb, entering the resting site of the Starks, it felt like the only place he should be right now, he could have dragon’s blood but still had his mother’s wolf’s one too.

 _His Mother_. How odd it sounded. 

He was silent for a while, lost in his thoughts, until she held his arm, and he looked back to her.

“Jon? Does anything else matters to you?” She studied his face.

“My whole life was a lie, Arya. All my life I endured all the names, mistreating, humiliation, everything. Because it was worth it, because I was Eddard Stark’s son. The most honorable man Westeros had ever met. Now I get to find out I was never his, I was the son of the Crown Prince and Lord Eddard’s sister.” It really hurt.

“I know why he did it; I can’t blame him for it. I know he loved my mom and he wanted to honor the promise he made to her. I could never deny you anything, in your deathbed or not. Yet…”He could not help himself. “How different everything could have been.”

“I would not love you less had I been raised your cousin than I do now.” She let a smile grow at her lips, their bond was unbreakable. “But I could have had a mother, Arya. Not a living one, I know, but I could have brought her flowers on her every name day, and light candles at the anniversary of her passing, on name day. I could have asked stories of her from Old Nan and Uncle Benjen, and I could have even asked for a belonging or two of hers, I hardly think Father did not have one. Who knows, your Lady Mother could even find it in her not to hate me, I would have been her nephew, and not a threat to her children. She could even have liked me a little, not that it matters.” His tears rolled freely now, he was no King in the North nor was him the Heir to the Iron Throne, he was Jon Snow, a motherless child, once again crying in the crypts for a life he might have known. She held him strongly, and they let minutes pass by. They were each other’s safety growing up; she would be his right now.

“You cannot suffer for what might or might not have happened, Jon. It is no good right now” She touched his hair. “They say I am a lot like her. Father once told me I had the wolf’s blood just like her, and even her looks. If she really was like me, then wherever she is, she is looking after you, watching over you. Like the fierce She-Wolf that she was.” She finally got a smile out his brooding face.

“Bran said Rhaegar Targaryen did not kidnap Lyanna, which means they loved each other. You were born out of love, not violence. I understand why you are upset over the things you never got to have, but think of the things you get to have now. That before knowing this, you did not: you are no longer a bastard, not that it matters to me, but I know you always wanted Father to legitimize you. Your father by blood loved your mother, as you always wanted. You were wanted, your mother did not leave you because she wanted, as people used to say, she died loving you. But through it all, you had a family that loved you. I know you never had it easy, but you had us, anyway. Now you have a woman that loves you, and she owns two fucking dragons. I do not think you want to break her heart. She would burn you alive!” She laughed, and her smart thinking mesmerized him, and he did get all his wishes, even if not the way he pictured it. But…Daenerys.

“They say Targaryens can’t be burnt, but I think the hair can…You would be hideous without yours, Jon. Please don’t upset the Dragon Queen, imagine yourself bald, the hideous sight.” He had to laugh, if only for a moment.

“I can’t stay with her, it does not matter how much I love her, Arya. She is my blood.” She had to understand.

“And Targaryens have been marrying for centuries, as Valyrians did. Did you know that Father’s parents were cousins? Grandfather Rickard Stark married Lyarra Stark. It is no crime to fall in love, true love does not come easy these days, sometimes it does not come at all.” How did she get so wise? She was barely a woman; he could remember her hiding from Septa Mordane so she could skip her sewing lessons.

“She would not burn you, she loves you too much. I could see it her face, trust me. I know faces.” She had a knowing smile.

“Plus, I don’t think Targaryens are unburnt.” He smiled.

They turned to go find his Mother’s grave, they both had their roses to give her, and their love to their father, for Ned Stark would always be their father.

“Arya?” Jon had to say this.

“Yes, Jon?” They continued walking, silently through the somber place.

“I might be a dragon but I will always be a wolf.” That is a part of him he would never leave behind.

“Of course you will.” She smiled and they continued their walk.

 

* * *

 

He heard soft footsteps on the snow, and looked back. She was a beautiful sight, in her white coat, braided hair amongst the snow-swept Godswood.

“I’m sorry; I did not mean to pry. Your Maester told me about this place, I just wanted to see it. I did not know you were here.” Daenerys voice was soft, almost a shy whisper. Her beauty almost hurt, but it was her mind, her heart he really fell for. Would it be her blood the one to break them apart?

“It’s okay.” His voice was quiet too. This was a sacred place, the Old Gods were listening.

“Is this the Weirwood tree you told me about?” She asked softly, it felt a bit awkward, talk of their time together, but he spoke so much of his home, she imagined meeting it in a different circumstance.

“Yes, my father…” He took a deep breath. “Lord Stark would clean his sword there, after deserters’ executions or whenever he had to use it. He never liked it, but he did his duty. He was the best man I’ve ever known.” The sadness spilled through his words.

She thought quietly, before answering.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” She knew how he felt. It does not matter that she knew him for less than a year; Jon Snow was all honor, duty and loyalty. He loved his family, his people, dearly. He loved his cold land, and his direwolf; he loved his wolf roots, the thought of denying all this for a father he never knew, out of a person, he always had the worst opinion, even if it was all a lie… She could only imagine the heartbreak.

Herself growing up being mad at the people who stole hers and Viserys’ Throne, and killed their Mother and Father, but later finding out the real nature of her father, it was devastating. Even if she never even met him.

Jon knew his father, Lord Stark had raised him. Loved him. Taught him everything a boy must learn from his Lord Father. _According to Varys and Bran Stark, he even tried to protect me from the Usurper’s wrath. I would like to think Lord Stark protected Jon for me. Perhaps I am being silly, but I like to imagine that somewhere in the clouds above Rhaegar is smiling down at us with Lyanna, blessing our love. So is Ned Stark, and my beautiful Lady Mother._

“My whole life I dreamed of knowing my mum. Who she was, if she wanted to know about me. If she cared.” She could see the emotions this brought on him. “I always wondered if she just gave me up. Now I find out she was dead this whole time, and my father was never my father…He was my uncle. I know why he did it, and I love him for it. Nevertheless, it could have saved so much pain. So many nights of self-doubt and crying. It was not easy being a bastard. I had Arya, Robb and even Bran later in life. Lord Eddard was always good to me, as a father should be. However, Lady Stark never let me forget my place. She never let me forget the bastard I was, and how I would never be a Stark or be treated as one. I would cry, as a child, to the Old Gods, praying for her to love me as one of her own. When I understood she would never love me as such, it both started hurting less, and more. ‘Cause I realized my place but it also numbed me to it.” A tear would slip between words, but his eyes were far away. He was sitting in a tree now; she was still up, looking down at him, when she sit next to him. Listening carefully, trying to keep her own tears from falling.

“…But she was always there. She was right down the crypts, dead and gone. I could have prayed for me. I could have…I don’t know.” Defeat was all she could hear, she wanted to hold him and chase his pain away, but she thought it was too soon.

“And somehow, I wanted her to be alive. Sometimes I dreamed of her showing up and claiming me, taking me away. Those were the nights that hurt the most, when she did not and I realized I was unwanted, just a motherless bastard.” His voice was so quiet now. Her heart broke for him, at least Daenerys knew she was loved by Rhaella.

“I understand your pain, Jon. I really do, I cannot imagine how your heart dealt with this and even so you still loved so fiercely, but he was protecting you. And perhaps, by being such a terrible person to you, Lady Catelyn did you a favor…if she was good and kind, someone might have suspected something?” He looked at her, almost shocked.

“Look, I am not saying she was right. You were a child, even if you were a bastard; a child cannot be punished for the sins of their parents. However, it does no good to speak of roads not taken; you cannot go back in time, Jon. If you go back, you are lost. Take it from someone who did not know much of family love, who got nothing but abuse and violence from the moment I became a woman. I would give everything to have had a piece of what you did. I lived in constant fear of being beaten. Viserys always made it clear I would be his Queen so he could take me anytime he wished, so that really scared me too. He tried once, right before my wedding to Khal Drogo. A guard outside had to forbid him to come inside my chambers. So, you see…Even with your stepmom’s unkindness, you had loving siblings, a loving parent, and other people that loved you. Mourn your parents; you have every right, my Love. But be grateful for what you had, it is more than most of us ever had.” The tears ran freely.

He looked at her, and he wanted to hold her too. The mighty Dragon Queen looked nothing more than a scared hurt cat. It broke his soul.

“I am your nephew.” He whispered.

“Yes, and I am your aunt.” She answered back. “My parents were sister and brother, and so were my grandparents. Had my brother lived, I might have been his wife.” It was a whisper too.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He was almost furious at himself how it did not bother him. He really wanted him to. He remembered Arya’s words:

_Did you know that Father’s parents were cousins? Grandfather Rickard Stark married Lyarra Stark. It is no crime to fall in love, true love does not come easy these days, sometimes it does not come at all._

He had fallen for Ygritte, not because he wanted, it just happened. She was wild and he needed to survive, she was his first love. But that sparkle was nothing compared to the fire that Daenerys Targaryen stirred inside him. She burned bright, it was more than physical, she was beautiful, yes; perhaps it was true what they said, she was the most beautiful woman alive, but it was her heart that he truly fell for.

She was good, kind. She cared for her people, she was ready to sacrifice everything for them. She lost her child, beyond the wall, to save them. That was the kind of person Daenerys was. He remembered entering her Throne room and thinking, she is beautiful but so is Cersei. Will she be another despot? Daenerys was anything but, she was Great King Jaehaerys with Aegon The Conqueror, reborn. She was light and strength, through all the darkness she went through, she became brighter, instead of weakness and shadows.

“After growing up imagining I would marry Viserys? It does not bother me. You were made for me.” She was glowing, under the weak but still there, sunlight. Jon wanted to claim her, right there. But something would not let him.

“I…” The Old Gods should be laughing right now.

“Take your time, Jon. It is a lot to digest. I’ll be in the castle.” She went to him and kissed his cheek. His whole body warmed up, forgetting he was sitting on a snow taken tree. The Godswood was all white and red. Ghost was somewhere laying down, he could get lost, in the colors.

He saw her walking away, and did not say a thing. He felt silly, his lips would not move, but he knew in his heart he needed only time before he found himself in her arms again. Blood be damned, he was a song of ice and fire? He and Dany could be one too, a prettier and stronger one, to resonate throughout time, this time, with a happy ending.

The Night King would come soon; they had to plan their strategies. Even so, he said his prayers to his Gods, and left in the same path his love did, they had a war to plan, and now he had something to live for.

He would always be the son of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but now he was also the son of Lyanna Stark, the beautiful Lady his father mourned every now and then, bringing a winter rose. The blue rose had a completely different meaning now. He always thought they were beautiful…now? They were special, they were his mother.

In addition, he was a son of House Targaryen too, not only for Rhaegar Targaryen, for he was a man Jon knew nothing of, until a day ago; The Prince of Dragonstone that was said to have kidnapped and raped his alleged aunt. Jon was now a Targaryen for Daenerys Stormborn. He was now the family she never had. She was his Lady, his family. His Queen.

 

* * *

 

How many times had he seen her? How many times had he spoken to her and probably did not even remember it? It was clear to Jon that his Ghost had followed him throughout his life, not furry friend, but the beautiful lady that was everywhere, always.

Who knows? For all he knew, it could have been her to send him Ghost, God only knows what would have happened to him had it not been for his direwolf. Mayhaps, mayhaps it was just his paranoia speaking louder than the child inside him, realizing in a twisted, somber way, he did have a mother, after all.

What would Lady Catelyn say, after all?

He tried to speak of her once, to his stepmother, but she punished him for telling ghost stories, and sent him to bed without any rights of engaging with his siblings for the following two days. He never again spoke of his shadow friend, in a way, he liked it, she was only his.

Now, he was here, down the crypts, begging, in front of **her** image, for her to appear to him. He wanted to let it all out. He wanted a mother. He wanted to apologize for the boy who cried for the abandonment, to apologize for believing Theon Greyjoy’s mean remarks of his mother being a whore, for why else would Lord Stark not tell him about her? He wanted just to see her beautiful face once more, for this statue did not do her justice, and the little he did remember her from his dream, and it was indeed very blurry and distant, she was as beautiful as Arya, but grown and her face carried a love like nothing else, also a deep sadness he never understood.

His mind did not wander much to Rhaegar Targaryen; now, it was of common knowledge that he did not kidnap and rape Lyanna, but it was hard to think of anyone else but Eddard Stark as his Father, and it felt like a disrespect to him to think of Rhaegar.

Somewhere in his mind, it was hard not to think of all that came from his parent’s love, all the death and destruction, but given his grandfather’s – and it was hard to accept that the Mad King was indeed his blood - state of mind, and Lord Rickard Southern ambition and the other Lords desire to end Aerys’ thirst for fire and blood, would it all have gone a different direction? They would probably never know.

Elia Martell…Rhaenys…Aegon…So much pain. He could not help but feel weird, mayhaps fucked up for feeling guilty for their deaths. He prayed for the Old Gods for their forgiveness, somehow the Gods would smile upon him, but Jon would not see it. He was too busy considering all that changed when those words left Brandon Stark’s and Samwell Tarly’s lips.

Jon went to the crypts to see Lyanna, he was eager to see her face, to feel her presence, he wanted his mother, now more than ever. He did not found her. So he stood in front of her statue, thinking, considering everything…Lit up another candle when he had to. 

He prayed for Lord Eddard, his father in all but blood; he prayed for Lord Brandon Stark, who died because he was too impetuous and loved his sister too much; he prayed for Lord Rickard Stark, the man who thought he was doing what was best for his family, by his daughter and his country, even if it did not turn out this way. Jon prayed for his Lady Mother, Lady Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, may she rest in peace: he had found out about her, he had found the rest of his family, he had found the love of his life, and nothing, not even a blood bond would take her away from him, he was decided.

But he also prayed for his late father, Rhaegar Targaryen. May he rest knowing Daenerys would never need for anything, as long as Jon had a breathe in him. May his late grandmother rest, knowing her daughter would be loved and treated with the respect, she was never given. May Maester Aemon rest in the best of all heavens, for he deserved, and he knew Jon would try his best to be worthy of his niece, accept their name, and honor their house.

Jon would always be a Stark, it was a big part of who he was, even being a Snow; but given a father and a mother had not given him another surname, falling in love with his Queen had, he would marry her and he would prove to her that no witch could break the magic that ice and fire could perform together.

Jon thought Lyanna was somewhere else, far from his pleas, what he did not know is that he needed that moment for himself, but she was right there, beside him. Invisible for the eyes, but oh so present in his heart. Targaryens bow to neither Gods nor men, but Starks are followers of the Old Gods, and between the crypts and the Godswood, no place was more watched by Them at the moment, Jon was in their sight.

 

* * *

 

Dany was sleeping for hours now, and according to Maester Wolkan and Sam, she would have to sleep for many more, to make sure she would make it. To make sure they would make it.

When they left for battle, days ago, they had no idea Daenerys was with child, but after a day in battle, a night spent in a cave to survive, a morning of combat with the Night King, his wights and her child, Viserion.

The battle was intense, worse than anything they had ever seen, and Viserion had made it out alive, left Drogon injured, had it not been for Rhaegal, Daenerys could have fallen into rocks and died.

Viserion had knocked her from his former brother, and she had taken a punch from his tail, his fire was hotter than the two living dragons, their armies pulled back and even if the wights were burned and their own dead too, they knew the Night King would be back soon enough. He had left South with Viserion. Mayhaps off to kill whatever was left of South, that the Mad Queen Cersei had not told her Guards kill in Kings Landing, or burn in the Red Keep, if rumors were true.

They had to prepare themselves for the very worst.

But all he could do was hold her hand and look at her.

Her belly barely showed, with all that had happened the days before their battle, they had not been together for days, so he could not perceive it’s size. He could touch it now, feeling tears come to his eyes.

Would she live to give their baby life? Would she live to see it grow? Would he live to see them live? Would anyone live at all?

He tried to avoid such somber thoughts, and think of happier ones, for he knew Daenerys would knock him in the head if she was awake and caught him thinking of it right after getting such good news. Their miracle was real.

He remembered her visions in the House of The Undying, she had told him, after his parentage reveal, how she had seen his mother’s favorite flowers in a chink, growing in a wall of ice…and his father talking about a song destined to a child. She thought it had been to his brother Aegon, and then mayhaps to himself…They would never know.

But their blood, the blood of ice and fire had made a baby, that cured a barren womb and Jon would do anything to make sure this baby lived to be born and live, be happy and loved.

So that’s what it felt like?

Had Rhaegar felt like that, leaving Lyanna in that tower, promising her to be back, mayhaps even believing it, but never truly being certain if he would hold his child? Or sing to him? He had heard the Prince was fond of singing and playing the harp.

The thought of failing was as unthinkable as the thought of never seeing Daenerys’ lilac loving, fierce eyes looking back at him. Which color would their baby have? Would they be sharp, kind eyes? Would they be grey like mine and Mother’s? Would they be indigo or lilac like Rhaegar Or Daenerys?

Jon thought, then, of a question his Lord Father had answered to each of his sons, eventually, in life, if not to little Rickon, that was too young when father died. 

“How can a man be brave, when he’s afraid?” Jon had asked.

“It’s the only time a man can be brave”. Ned Stark had answered.

I am scared, yet I have never been braver. He felt a little squeeze at his hand, and looked up to his favorite pair of eyes. She was looking at him, surprisingly calm.

 _“Jon?”_ Her voice was quiet and soft, like she had slept the said hours that she had.

“You are going to be fine, my love. Drogon is fine, Rhaegal is fine. We will get the Night King and we will end his army. Everything will be all right, Dany.” He held her in his arms when her eyes welled up, her sobs filling up the room when she remembered her undead son.

“I have something good to tell you” He whispered in her ear after a few minutes.

“Is it true? Am I with child?” Her voice was quiet again, almost as scared as before.

“Did you know? Did you not like it?” He was surprised.

“I am the happiest I have ever been, my loved” She held his face and kissed it, slowly. His eyelids, cheeks, nose, lips and then stopped, until he opened his eyes.

“Why did you not tell me?” He asked, gently.

“I was afraid of losing it, I can’t lose anyone, Jon. I cannot feel this again.” Her face seemed so much younger than the Queen of Westeros should.

“You will not lose our baby, Dany. You will have it, and you will be a great mother.” He kissed her face back, and joined her in bed, after stripping off his furs, leaving him in a cot and a tunic. He held her all through the night, knowing they had to prepare what came ahead; not knowing if Drogon would be strong enough to fight, or if the dragon would even go without his mother, he did not know if Daenerys would or even could join the fight in such a delicate state. He trusted her judgement, even if he did not want her to.

Once again, he could not help but think of his father, Rhaegar Targaryen, leaving his mother to birth him, with hopes and dreams of taking back their nation, bring back peace, take her to Kings Landing where she would rule beside him, and he would grow up a prince, next to his siblings…maybe they would not return to Dorne with Elia…maybe they would? What matters is, Rhaegar imagined a life for himself when he left Dorne, one he never got to live after Robert’s hammer touched his chest.

Jon wanted to see their child, Daenerys naked body grow their children, because they wanted many others. He wanted to please her all through their lives, and he would go wherever she would go…He would give Winterfell to Sansa and Arya, and follow his Queen, not before marrying her under the Old Gods, of course. Where Ned and Benjen could see them, where his Mother could see him.

He knew she would always be next to him, but there in the Godswood, she felt nearer.

Rhaegar and Lyanna’s love broke a kingdom apart, Jon and Daenerys would bring it together. His parents love never got to grow old and mature, his and Dany would be one for the bards to sing. And everyone to hear.

 

* * *

 

He sat at the Godswood, dawn was almost upon him; someone was sitting beside him. Jon knew exactly who it was, for she had been there his entire life.

Words were not needed; just being there felt like a prayer: maybe of gratitude, maybe of absolution.

He looked to her as she eyed him back, with love and devotion in her gaze. He was so mad, growing up, at the mother that had abandoned him. So mad at the woman who did not want him, how silly he felt now, realizing his solitude came out of her love for him.

“She’s so beautiful” Her smile warmed his heart. Dream or not, this never felt so real. “And smart.” She had come for him, after all. He must have known she would, she always had. Her voice was so familiar it almost sounds stupid how he never realized who she was before, he could not imagine not hear it every day now.

Hearing his mother talking about the woman he loved, felt like the blessing he never got to ask.

“She has your eyes.” Lyanna touched his cheek, while he tried to make sense of her words. Daenerys had piercing lilac eyes, while his were Stark grey.

“My eyes.” She smiled, as only a mother would.

“What –“Before he could ask, she was gone. What was nature turned to stone, light to dark and instead of outside, he was at their chambers, feeling Daenerys turning to her side at bed, his hand sprayed on her belly, making him turn too.

It was too vivid, too real, not to be real. He could remember her face, her voice, her smile. Her eyes.

“She has your eyes”, she said.

Jon knew, then, what Lyanna meant. Their baby would not be Aemon or Daeron, not this one; this would be Alysanne Targaryen, and she would have Lyanna’s eyes. Perhaps the next one could have his mother’s name, he smiled to himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So???  
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this one!  
> Comments and kudos feed my soul and will to write LOL  
> Thanks for reading it, guys! <3  
> Another chapter to close the curtains! :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you guys think?  
> It was supposed to be a one shot, but I was too damn long and It feared it got too tiring and you wouldn't like it and would find it too tiresome, so I'll be posting one chapter today and the two others very soon, the second one is already done and third one almost done!  
> So happy to share this, really...took me forever.
> 
> What did you guys think?  
> Hope you guys enjoyed it, leave comments with your thoughts about it.  
> If you enjoyed it or not, be kind, ok? <3


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